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XHE imRAIlY OF (/^'^^^ 




innes^ota 

and other 

"Verses! 



By AMBROSE LEO McGREEVY 

(Author of "The God of Battles" 
and other Verses) 




WINONA, MINNESOTA 

JONES & KROEGER CO., Publishers 
1916 



Copyright 1916 by 
A. L. McGreevy 



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NDV27 131S @„^448i38 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Minnesota 5 

Boyhood Days in Lakeland 6 

Land of the Lakes 7 

Just a Thought 9 

Hidden Pearls 10 

The Chip 11 

Wabasha 12 

The Farther Shore 13 

The Mountain and I 14 

Homeland 15 

The Free Lance 16 

A Song of the Seven Seas 18 

Conscience 19 

The Man and the Ghost 20 

An Intruding Thought 23 

A Tale of the Desert 24 

Happy Boy 26 

The Boy with the Baldheaded Eyebrows 27 

Reverie 29 

The Dreamer 30 

L' Envoi 31 



WON'T YOU COME ALONG? 

I'm going to sit in the dreamer's chair 
Just for awhile to weave in my thought 

Fabric of gold from nature so fair, 

Won't you come along and see what I've wrought? 

I'm going to paint with words of my choice 
From models of things my fancy has spun 

Pictures I somehow trust may rejoice, 

Won't you come along and see what I've done? 

I'm going to while an hour away 

Roaming wherever the spirit may dare; 

I'm going to give what soul shall essay, 

Won't you come along and banish your care? 



MINNESOTA J 

It's the land of Minnesota where ten thousand lakes lie gleaming, j 

And rivers wind like ribbons toward the sea: j 

Where the wild deer browse in clover, and the turtle doves are < 

dreaming, j 

It's bonny land, the only land for me. ; 

Oh land of cheery sky and sunshine, magic land of spell and i 

charm ! I 

The world has never really known your worth; I 
So I'll tell them of your glory now, and spread the sweet alarm 

That all may come and feel your mystic mirth. ! 

1 

So far away from fevered Broadway, far away from BostonTown, j 

You'll see this land I'm telling you about; ! 

And when you really find it, tho it's still without renown, j 

You'll be a boy and want to romp and shout. ] 

It will grip you with its fingers; it will hold you in its spell; ; 

'Twill thrill your fevered heartstrings thru and thru, | 

Till you'll sing with its enchantments, and its charms you'll want i 
to tell 

To the world, that they may come and do as you. , 

Are you seeking recreation, then, and don't know where to go? j 

Just wander to this land I love so well! | 

For tho you search this country east and west and high and low, 

You'll never find its like where humans dwell. ' 

Oh leave your cities' din and roar, leave your crowded thorofare, 

And come with me to Paradise on Earth: 
Reconstruct your nerve and sinew, build new bone and marrow i 

there. 

And feel the thrill of life in this new birth. ; 

Where the wild roses riot in their bloom i 

And cloudless skies dispel all thought of gloom, | 

Where the wild fowl nest in summer j 

And a thousand rivers murmur, > 
Come and cast your lot until the day of doom. 



— 5 — 



BOYHOOD DAYS IN LAKELAND 

Way beyond the Mississippi in old Minnesota State 

There's a little lake that's calling me tonight, 
And I feel my soul a-pining, and my mind is wide awake 

As it wanders back again in fancy's flight. 
There tonight again I'm roaming, in that golden land yonder 

Toward the setting sun with memories sweet and true, 
And in happy reminiscence o'er olden days I ponder 

As I do again the things I used to do. 

Oh those boyhood days of glory, how shall I tell the story, 

Of an age when rapture thrilled in every thew; 
When it seemed so far away, life's evening old and hoary; 

And my cares were far between and very few. 
What tales my rhymes would render of an age so pure and tender, 

Could words but tell the feelings of my soul; 
When I wandered thru the wildwoods of teeming lands of splen- 
dor, 

And saw the lake waves down the sand-beach roll. 

There were argent waves a-glimmer, the sun's rays all a-shimmer 

As the wild trout leaped in haste to catch the fly; 
And the freedom and the freshness of nature all a-simmer 

Beneath the spell of Minnesota's sky. 
Oh the glory of the gloaming and rapture of the roaming 

When the sun-god paints his canvas in the west, 
And living things of nature, in their eagerness come homing 

To their native land, the land they love the best. 

Better far than gilded palace of uncultured kings of mammon. 

Who flaunt their flags of wealth unto the world. 
Are the green fields of my Lakeland, where unknown are guile 
or gammon 

And the ensigns of all nature are unfurled. 
Thrice-blest land of God Almighty, like the promised land of old 

You are filled with plenty for your children dear, 
Tho your beauty and your splendor have never yet been told, 

Of all lands of earth, to heaven you're most near. 



— 6 



LAND OF THE LAKES 

There where the Father 

Of Waters flows 
To fecundate land as 

As onward he goes: 

There where a thousand 

Lakes lie a-dream, 
Which up from prairies 

Like diamonds gleam: 

There where the wild rose 

Riots in bloom, 
And beauty springs 

From nature's womb: 

There where the birds 

Of every name 
Trill thru the land, 

Songsters of fame: 

There where the cow-bells 

Jangle afar 
O'er fields of clover. 

Sweetest that are: 

Nearer I've been 

To heaven's own land, 
Than wherever else 

I've taken my stand. 

Land of Paradise, 

Land of the Lakes! 
Mem'ries of thee arise! 

— My soul awakes! 

Summers of glory. 

Winters of fame. 
Tell their own story, 

Speak their own name. 

Would I were roaming 

Far on the mead. 
There in the gloaming. 

Naught else to heed. 

Where all life's odds 
Would be with thy child. 
Oh land of the gods! — 
Nature's own v/ild! 



Where no one plods, 
To mammon bound — 

Oh land of the gods, 
Circle me round! 

Where he who trods 
Thy pathway sweet, — 

Oh land of the gods, 
Thee do I greet 

Still do I love thee 

Tho far away; 
Still dost thou soothe me, 

Night and by day. 

Some day I'll wander 
Back to thy arms, 

There will I ponder, 
Spelled in thy charms. 

Oh life Mali be sweet 

Unto me then, 
As thee I greet 

In glory again. 



JUST A THOUGHT 

I wandered where the autumn leaves are falling, 
In vain methought to soothe an aching heart; 

I hearkened to the voice of winter calling, 
"I'm coming, coming, summer shall depart." 

I felt the frigid panting of his coming, 

I shivered at the thought of certain death, 

I heard the wild weird cadence of his thrumming, 
I trembled at his minatory breath. 

I saw the things of nature slowly dying, 
I knew that I must also pass away, 

I felt my grievous soul within me crying 
Out against the certain coming of the day. 

I saw the winter threaten with his killing, 

Yet thru the gloom a thought enchanted me 

That cheered me on, and now is sweetly stilling 
All notions sad concerning what must be. 

Ah there beyond the drear and frigid silence 
I saw the coming of the dulcet spring. 

To which my lonely soul fled in reliance. 

Scarce heeding what the future had to bring. 



— 9 — 



HIDDEN PEARLS 

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear." 

Westward ho in the land of the lakes 
Beside a stream as it sweeps along, 

Nestling there amid scattering brakes 
Lies the village where I belong. 

Circled by hills which baffle the view 

And hinder sight of worlds that are strange, 

Dwell its people in numbers few, 

So blithesome within their narrow range. 

Theirs no care of the busier world 

Where deeds are done by giants of worth; 

Theirs to live where their spirits were hurled. 
Theirs to live in the land of their birth. 

Many there are within the old town 

Had they but let ambition take hold. 
Attained at last a place of renown, — 

Their deeds to future men would be told. 

Perhaps as the ages sweep along 

It matters not, just v/hat they have done 
In the eyes of the world's countless throng. 

If their sins at last be summed as none. 

I'm sure at that far off end of time 
When ebb and flow of humanity cease. 

Their names shall sound in heavenly rhyme 
With those of Saints in the land of Peace. 



— 10 



THE CHIP 

Upon a bank, inland a thousand miles 
I toss a chip into the swirling river, 

And watch attentively its freakish wiles 

As down the rushing stream it moves a-quiver. 

Away beyond my sight it fades afar, 
Gone forever from my inquiring gaze. 

It enters mighty ocean's gates ajar. 

To be absorbed within its mystic maze. 

So I upon the stream of history 

Move here, now there, but ever on and on 
Bound for unknown eternal mystery 

Where countless millions of the past have gone. 

What to find beyond those gates I know not, 
But feeling hints within me I believe. 

And so I know that joy shall be my lot, 
For they must not, can not, do not deceive. 



— 11 — 



WABASIL\ 

So peaceful "mid its hills of green, 
Of all the towns I've ever seen 
Is Wabasha of grace serene 
And beautiful with happy mien. 

When first this garden spot I saw 
Where fiows the river Chippewa 
To meet the hills of Wabasha 
It speUed my heart with holy awe. 

Afar from City's madd'ing rush 
And busy crowd in careless crush. 
I found this place imbued with hush 
Upon its floor of nature's plush. 

The people in this sweet retreat. 
The like of them you seldom meet, 
As when in Wabasha you greet 
And catch their smile upon the street. 

There's just that happy feeling there 
Of peace, contentment everywhere 
That's scarcely ever found elsewhere. ; 
It's omnipresent in the air. 



12 — 



THE FARTHER SHORE 

Our souls are like the water flowing down 

From dizzy heights of mountain side. j 

Where snow and ice and cold abide, \ 

To chafe along thru fields and oft by town. j 

Down from the white and lofty rocky wall j 

Now streaming comes the flood apace 

Contesting in a mighty race, 
It strives to forge ahead and leave them all. ^ 

So are we borne from out the heights above { 

To shift and play our little part, 

And moving with both hand and heart I 

We act regardless of eternal love. j 

We come from out the unknown with a rush, 

Plashing, gurgling o'er beds of rock. 

Rubbing elbows with worlds that mock, 
To meet our destined end in fearful hush. 

Then shall we sport upon that farther shore, 

And sparkling, leap, and flash and shine 

Beneath the eternal sun benign, 
And hear the waters rolling evermore. j 



— 13 — 



. THE MOUNTAIN AND I 

How often have I stood in awe 
Before the monuments I saw, 
Those giant heaps of earth and rock 
Which thru the ages seem to mock 
The brevity of man's career, 
And haunting spectre death, so near. 
And all things else that pass with time — 
To me they ever were sublime. 

Those monster mounds of clay and stone 

That thru the centuries stood alone, 

And solemn, silent, ever shove 

Their glistening snow-caps high above 

The day's routine, and sphere of man — 

Whose life at best is but a span 

Of years that come and go in haste,! 

Ah you remain untouched and chaste 

As when from 'neath creative hand 

You took your everlasting stand — 

Ye symbols of eternal life 

So far removed from earthly strife,! 

To me you tell a v/ondrous tale 

Before which words can only pale.! 

And yet in spite of all I see 

The one strange thought that hangs on me, 

Is that you too must fade away 

To nothing, on that final day 

When men and matter evermore 

Shall mix in elemental roar, 

And in that grand finale blend 

That tells the world's expected end. 

And when you perish with the earth, 

Alone shall I in newer birth 

Still linger on in spirit land 

In company with that holy band 

Of human souls so happy there 

Where haunteth neither work nor care. 

So am I greater than thou art, 
Tho smaller now doth seem my part, 
For when thou art forever gone 
My soul shall linger on and on. 



14 



HOMELAND 

Oh this city life so maddening 
With its thousand cares so saddening 
I forget thee and I'm gladdening 
At the thought of home again. 

Many evenings have I wandered 
Many leisure hours I've squandered, 
As with nature's God I've pondered 
O'er the mystic truths of life. 

With my Maker I've been roaming 
In the glory of the gloaming, 
I have felt my spirit homing 
Toward the land of God above. 

Of this land with glory gleaming 
Tonight once more I'm dreaming 
And my soul would still be seeming 
That it's there in fancy still. 

Oh thy beauty still is haunting 
And thy grandeur tho still wanting 
I have never ceased from vau'nting 
With the power of my speech. 

Thou didst never yet deceive me 
Since the day that I did leave thee 
And I hope thou wilt receive me 
When I'll return again. 

Oh I have grown so weary 
Of a life so dark and dreary, 
Yet the memory makes me cheery 
As I see thee once again. 

And no matter what it cost me 
Tho afar grim fate has tossed me 
Oh be sure thou hast not lost me, 
For I'll come home again. 

And I'll live with thee forever 
And thy bonds I will not sever 
And we'll part again, no, never! 
For thou art home to me. 



— 15 — 



THE FREE LANCE 

Up and down this hemisphere 

Seeking things we never find, 
Cut from those men hold most dear, 

Wanderlust had filled my mind. 
Restless, rampant, roaming ever 

Over trails unknown of old, 
I have sought what men find never, 

And if found, could never hold. 

In the deep desire of travel 

I've felt the fabric of my soul. 
Like the threads of cloth unravel 

In destruction of the whole. 
Bring to me the wilds a-calling, 

Ever on to scenes unknown, 
While an aftermath appalling 

Left I, where my works were sown. 

Precious hours have I squandered 

Of my youth's most priceless morn, 
While in fields afar I've wandered 

From the land where I was born. 
Yet my life has been a pleasure 

And regrets I shall not bring 
But the fullness of my measure 

Of life's joys to thee I sing. 

Thru the heated torrid zone 

'Long the equatorial path. 
Seeking fortune all alone 

I have left an aftermath. 
To the southland where the ice 

Floats like mountains in the sea 
I have wandered more than twice 

Finding things unknown to thee. 

Vagrant birds that ever move, 

Birds of passage thru the air, 
Following no settled groove 

Here today, tomorrow there: 
So I've rambled, rambled on. 

Homeless too, but always free 
To the lands where few have gone 

Far away beyond the sea. 

Northward, northward I have fled 

As a breath into the night 
Or a spirit of the dead 

Moving on in endless flight. ' 
From the land of Lake Itasca 

Cradle of a mighty stream. 
To the mountains of Alaska 

I have chased my endless dream. 

— 16 — 



With my back against the pole 

In the northern Frigid Zone, 
While I played a minor role, 

I have lived and worked alone. 
Where the northern lights are shining 

Thru the darkness clear and bright 
I have felt my soul a-pining 

In the hours of the night. 

Ever songs of leave and license 

I have sung where e'er I went; 
Burning, burning all the incense 

Of my soul's remaining stent, 
At the altar of the fat god 

Builded by the hands of man, 
In that land that few have trod. 

Beyond the pale of civil ban. 

Wild and free has been my roaming, 

Law or mandate I knew none. 
Whether in the summer's gloaming 

Or the winter's midnight sun. ,f. 
Skimming like the birds of passage 

Or the fishes of the sea. 
For my soul, it knew no bondage. 

Hazard always mastered me. 

Then assign me a failure 

In the book of those ye knew. 
While I follow on my pale lure 

Towards the goal it leads me to. 
Tho my life may seem still dreary 

As I wander on alone. 
Leave me to my fancies eery 

For I'm just a rolling stone. 



17 



A SONG OF THE SEVEN SEAS 

In every clime, 'neath every sky 

On ocean's billows rocking, 
From where the chilling ice-bergs lie 

To tropic storms bemocking, 

I've sailed the sea enchanting me 

With all its charms alluring, 
And many joys that mine shall be 

While mem'ries are enduring. 

Oh for a breath of salt sea air! 

And the good ship onward skimming, 
And sparkling waves in the noonday glare 

Or tinged in the twilight dimming. 

Oh for the ocean's freedom wide! 

And its freshness sweet, and farness 
And the rhythmdc pulse of the ancient tide 

That knows nor leash nor harness. 

Born in the spell of the salt sea side, 
A child of the ocean's breeding, 

Far away on the wild ebb tide 

I've been with the breezes speeding. 

But now a relic grown gray 

Abjured of the salt sea breeze,: 

Only an outcast by the way. 
Derelict of the seven seas. 



— IS — 



CONSCIENCE j 

Out of the past | 

So strange it seems 
Of all things else, 

Weft of my dreams: : 

Comes a soft voice \ 

To gnaw at my soul, j 

Scattering my calm, : 

Exacting a toll: i 

Asking me why i 

I acted so, ] 

When in temptation ! 

I fell so low. 1 

I 

To answer back j 

I scarce knew how, 1 

But in contrition , j 

Low I did bow. I 

Naked I stood 

Before my God 
Deeply regretting 

The way I had trod. 

Bared was my soul 

To mine own gaze; . 

I saw the right j 

And wrong of my ways. I 

Firmly I vow^ed j 

That nevermore • 

I would depart , 

From my Father's door. J 

Happy was I i 

That from the past, j 

Voice of conscience 

Called me at last, '\ 

Back from the path j 

That I had trod, ' 

Carelessly living I 

Away from my God. ' 

To change of life 1 

And better things 
That only he 

With graces brings. < 



19 



THE MAN AND THE GHOST 

'Twas on a summer's night 

Not very long ago 
When 'mid the bristling crowd 

I met a man in woe, 
Who plucked me by the sleeve 

And led me far beyond 
The dizzy crowd and roar 

And there in deep despond, 

This tale he told to me, 

Which you may take or leave. 
But as concerns myself 

I cannot but believe. 
In earnest did he speak, 

Convincing was each word. 
And now the tale I tell 

To you as it was heard: 

"Oh stranger hear me out, 

Do thou believe my tale, 
For true I swear it is 

And that I do bewail! 
That awful, awful night 

No more shall I forget, 
For vivid I perceive 

The fearful phantom yet. 

"I thought that I was blind 

So inky black the night. 
When there beside my bed 

I saw what gave me fright. 
And gazing steadily 

In ghostly form it stood 
So quiet-like, I thought 

It had been made of wood. 

"Then starting from my bed 

In fear, aloud I cried, 
'Who are you? Tell me please!' 

While quickly it replied, 
'Me you have seen before. 

Do not pxetend! 'Tis so! 
For friends I know we've been 

In youth so long ago.' 

"Then upright quick I sat 
In horror, fear and dread, 
So icy-cold my flesh, 

I thought I had been dead. 
Again I asked this ghost 

Who, what, and why, he was 
With bated breath, and voice 
As one in terror does. 
— 20 — 



"Then back the answer came 

So quick it almost seemed 
The whole thing had occurred 

To me while I had dreamed. 
But M'hen the words began 

To flow, I soon awoke, 
For then I really knew 

It was a ghost that spoke. 

" 'List to me then tonight 

And hear me out, poor fool, 
And you shall hear from me 

Things never learned at school. 
From out oblivion's shore 

I came but to return. 
From darkness forth I sprang 

And darkness is my bourne. 

'Tis you who've kept me tight 

In thraldom worse than hell. 
And that is why this tale 

To you I wish to tell. 
Drunken with selfishness 

And steeped in worldly wrong, 
Your life you've sacrificed 

To cast it with the throng. 

" 'I might have given you 

A great place in the sun, 
If you had followed me 

As you wisely should have done. 
But no! a fool you'd be! 

And fools do phantoms follow, 
To find tonight from me 

That all was base and hollow. 

" 'Who am I, whence I came, 

In trembling voice you cry. 
Ah, that is why I'm here 

Tonight to make reply. 
The spirit of your youth, 

The ghost of your ideal, 
Am I Avho now stand here 

And this to you reveal. 

" 'Faithful I have been 
And loyal until now. 
While under your misrule 

So humbly I did bow. 
Oh hear you my request. 

And freedom grant to me, 
For I have served my time, 
I pray thee, set me free!' 
— 21 — 



"The Ghost's voice then did break, 

While loudly I did shriek, 
'I know not what you mean, 

Nor that whereof you speak! 
It's mystery all to me 

And you should now explain 
The meaning of your words, 

Lest you might speak in vain.' 

" 'Ah now you've set me free! 

Farewell, farewell, farewell! 
I go my way alone, 

There's nothing more to tell. 
The fact that unto you 

My words are mystery 
Alone has been enough 

To set me ever free. 

" 'I go my way alone 

And leave you to yourself, 
For I have no desire 

For worldly pomp or pelf. 
We ne'er shall meet again 

In fact or fancy's flight; 
I leave thee now for aye. 

Good night, lost friend, good night!' 

"Then loud I cried and long 

While slowly thru the air 
This phantom ghost of mine 

I saw no longer there: 
The meaning of your words 

I never more shall lack, 
I pray thee gentle ghost, 

Come back, come back, come back! 

"But never answer came. 

Nor sign of ghost returned, 
And now it really seemed 

That rne this ghost had spurned. 
And that is why I am 

A spirit still in flight, 
A hungry waiting soul 

A-sobbing thru the night." 



— 22 



AN INTRUDING THOUGHT 

There a-throng with the mirthful crowd, 
Strangely I thought of the pall and the shroud, 
Asking the question, tho' not aloud. 
If I were to die tonight? 

What of the gilded ball-room's glare, 
What of the thousand vanities there. 
What of the men and the women so fair, 
If I were to die tonight? 

What of the painted cheeks of red. 
What of the clever things then said, 
Only the hosts of the countless dead. 
If I were to die tonight? 



— 23 



A TALE OF THE DESERT 

Come perch on my knee my boy; 

I've a little story to tell, 
One I hope your heart will enjoy, 

Come while your griefs I dispel; 
For soon you must be off to bed, — 

Mamma will come and tuck you in 
To sleep wdth angels overhead: — 

Come and hear my story begin. 

Once in the desert so long ago 

There lived a man and his only child, 
A little boy who acted so 

He nearly drove his father wild. 
His father loved him, yes indeed. 

He loathed to have him disobey, 
It made his great big kind heart bleed 

When this small boy would have his way. 

So w^hen one day the father went 

About his cares, the little boy 
With heart and soul on pleasure bent 

Went ofif in search of some new toy. 
The desert called him on and on 

And many miles of sand he crossed 
And hot and fierce the sun had shone 

When the lonesome little lad was lost. 

When home the father came again 

He knew his little boy was lost 
And showing he was best of men. 

Went out to find, nor heeding cost. 
His heart was burning up with grief 

When he thought of his lonesome lad 
And wished to bring him sweet relief 

And make his weary heart so glad. 

The hardships of his little son 

Lost on the desert and all alone, 
He knew and felt them one by one, 

He heard each sad and dismal moan. 
He felt the sunbeam's blazing heat, 

The sighs within his lonely heart 
And heard his lamb's despairing bleat 

And yearned and yearned to take his part. 

So out in search the father went 

Of his terror stricken little boy; 
Well he knew what the desert meant 

With its cruel power to destroy. 
Nor sand nor dust that filled his mouth, 

Stones nor prickles that cut his feet 
Nor piercing thirst from desert drouth 

Could turn him back in drear defeat. 

— 24 — 



A-wandering thus the father died 

With heart still full of deepest woe, 1 

A-searching for his dear lost child — f 

This happened, . . . . oh so long ago. \ 

The little boy! Yes he was found j 

In the golden light of another day 
Long after wandering round and round, 

When home again he came to stay. j 

But how his father proved so true j 

And on the desert died alone, | 

This little lad, he never knew j 

Until to manhood he had grown. i 

Ah then he knew and strove to live ] 

Just like his father, to the end 

And if need be, his life to give ; 

To help to save a needing friend. j 

Yes here upon this desert earth I 

Long, long ago this thing took place ] 

And ever since, a newer birth j 

Has come upon the human race. 

The father's name was Christ, my child, ' 

And lost upon the desert sand \ 
Were all the human race run wild — 

This tale some day you'll understand. 



25-- 



HAPPY BOY 

When I get to feeling blue 

It seems good to have him round 
For his laughter hits so true, 

From this lad who never frowned. 
Tho a man he seems in years 

Scarce you'd know him from a boy 
With a heart chuck full of cheers 

With a strangle-holt on joy. 

Singing, singing all the day 

Never seems to have a grouch, 
Ever happy, ever gay 

Never slept on troubled couch. 
Oft I see him in a dream 

As I knew him long ago 
With his happy face abeam 

Showing scarce a sign of woe. 

Tho his trials are not few 

Still he smiles on thru life, 
Doing not as others do — 

Reaping hatred from the strife, — 
Jolly as he moves along. 

Sowing everywhere his mirth. 
Even tho things go wrong 

He's of sadness always dearth. 

I have learned to love this boy 

With his wondrous gift of bluff, 
Bubbling over with his joy. 

Made of splendid fighting stuff. 
Sing on lad and play the game 

Beaten you can never be. 
For success is of the same 

Stuff which fills your heart with glee.! 



— 26 — 



THE BOY WITH THE BALDHEADED 
EYEBROWS 

Now Jim was a boy that yearned for fame 

Tho his heart was good and true, 
And the way he sought to make a name 

Would almost startle you. 

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up 

On the campus one day in spring, 
When out of the crowd with the speed of a pup 

Came rascally Jimmie Kling. 

A bet was on with the most of the crowd 
So I knew and I watched the game, 

For the bulk of the boys with noises loud 
Followed where Jimmie came. 

The bet they had made in reckless haste 

So true to their Irish race 
Was to see how each in his personal taste 

Could most disfigure his face. 

Like lightning into the sleeping room 

Each to his only cell, 
With Jimmie leading them on to their doom 

They came like the fiends of hell. 

And there with a vim each set to work 

In his own peculiar way, 
Nor a single one his task did shirk 

For each would be king of the day. 

And when in surprise I saw them again, 

A sight no words could tell, 
They looked like a covey of prairie hen 

In flight from a hunter's shell. 

But stranger and wilder than all the rest 

Came volatile vagabond Kling 
With a face excelling the very best 

In his strife for the fame of the thing. 

With a bleary face, sans color and hair, 
And the look of one from the grave. 

So woebegone, and a dreary stare 
That would make a sane man rave. 

— 27 — 



/-* 



With a razor sharp he had dared to shave 
From his brows the least vestige of hair 

And now in the form of an elfish knave, 
He entered the noonday glare. 

Hs^:** **** **** 

Jimmie Kling! You've beaten them all 
In your reckless search for fame, 

For here in your world, to large and small 
A byeword you've made of your name. 

But out beyond the campus pale 
Where mighty manhood throbs. 

They are calling men both strong and hale 
To weather sighs and sobs. 

So when you go to take your stand 

On life's great battlefield, 
Obey your better heart's command, 

And follow with your shield. 

Tho weary mind and body sore 

May fight you in the game. 
Be grit my boy unto the core 

And great will be your fame. 

There's not a man who ever failed 

To win success in life. 
But in the crisis sadly quailed 

And perished in the strife. 



28 — 



REVERIE 

I wandered back along the way 

In fancy just the other day, 

To where the old brick schoolhouse stood 

By running stream and bank and wood. 

And there by clear and bickering stream, 
I dreamed again my boyhood dream 
Of manly deeds and manly strife 
Within the zone of worldly life. 

Again I builded in the air 
With glowing heart and youthful dare, 
Those castles of my boyhood dreams, 
So long forgotten now it seems. 

When on my musings wild there broke 
Such noise that from my dreams I woke 
To shouting boys and shrieking girls 
A-move in gyroscopic whirls. 

A lone lad then on mischief bent, 
I followed up where e'er he went, 
And saw the deed his mind had planned 
With childish heart and cunning hand. 

Then with a mighty burst of joy 
That only comes from out a boy, 
Away to newer deeds he went 
Till all that energy was spent. 

And as I gazed into the years 

Of future toil and troubled tears, 

I pondered o'er thruout the day 

These words my soul so yearned to say. 

''You're foolish, boy, if you never try 
To take to the land of 'bye and bye,' 
Some careless abandon of the day 
Of sport and laugh, of romp and play. 

'Tis the eternal spirit of boy 

Can ever give you peace and joy 

When you are in your later years 

'Mid friend and foe, 'mid plots and sneers. 



29 



THE DREAMER 

Last night in my dreams while a-sleeping 

Strange fancies and visions I saw 
The like of which set me beweeping 

And filled me with terror and awe. 
For there were disclosed to my vision 

The battlefield's grim sullen sight, 
The slaughter without intermission 

And war's most horrible blight. 
Till deep in the throes of my dreaming 

A wish most devoutly I made — 
Tho nations with blood may be streaming — 

The minds of these men I'd persuade 
To stop all their useless destruction, 

This wholesale crim_e to decrease, 
To spend their lives in construction 

Of temples of love and of peace. 

But what is the use of my rhyming 

When rhymsters are laughed unto scorn? 
And what is the use of my climbing- 

To heights all alone and forlorn? 
I'm only a dreamer; you said so; 

Then let me dream on all alone 
And wander my days in God's meadow 

Of peace, with these dreams of mine own. 
I'd rather be counted a dreamer 

Than mix in affairs of the state 
If this needs make me a schemer, 

A builder of realms with your hate. 
I like not the warrior's fighting 

Tho needful sometimes it m.ay be. 
For war shall ever be blighting 

Destructful to you and to me. 
And spite of the world's now confusion 

And bloodshed and terror and war 
Some day there'll come an infusion 

Of peace, that shall grow more and more 
Upon this old world of our waking 

Till you and I shall behold 
A new race of men in the making 

As the God of Nations has told. 



— 30 — 



L'ENVOI 

AN HOUR OR SO 

An hour or so in the realm of song 
To you I hope hath not seemed long, 
Tho critics all wise deride my work 
This hour you gave, to me shall belong. 

Then what if the learned seek for a sin 
Against a commandment their fancy may spin: 
'Tis not for them I have moulded my verse, 
No: just for an hour, your favor to win. 

Then shall I hope a thought you may take 
And think it worth keeping just for its sake. 

Let critics opine, it's you that I want 
To fondle and have the verses I make. 

Tho I be guilty of technical crime, 

Tho faults there be in my verses and rhyme; 

Thoughts have I given in words of my choice. 
Hoping they linger with you for a time. 



4 

I 



THE GOD OF BATTLES, AND OTHER VERSES 

by 
Ambrose Leo McGreevy 

In this collection of thirty poems the author plays up and 
down the gamut of virtue and vice with rare skill. The first six 
might be called war poems. The remaining twenty-four deal 
with love, friendship, and nature. 

Verdict of the Press 

"Sounding the note of neutrality in his chief inspiration of 
the volume lifts the collection to a plane above that of the ordi- 
nary verse writer striving to respond to the emotional call of 
the European strife. It is not often that a war poem is found 
which embodies at once an element of patriotism and an argu- 
ment in behalf of peace, a quality of virility and a fabric of deli- 
cate imagery.'"— Tribune, Minneapolis. 

"They display a variety of thought that shows a deep under- 
standing of the emotions that rule the world. They are uplift- 
ing and point the way to better ideals and happier interpreta- 
tions of the real phases of life."— National Magazine, Boston. 

"They breathe a sympathy with human life in its noblest as- 
pirations." — The Standard, Chicago. 

"There are many praiseworthy expressions of lofty senti- 
ment." — The Chronicle, Pittsburgh. 

"* * *Versatile and refreshing in his presentations. Lovers 
of poetry will find it interesting." — Word and Way, Kansas City. 

"There are many sweet poems in the little volume, and we 
are sure it will be enjoyed by those who read its pages." — West- 
ern Recorder, Louisville, Ky. 

"A lofty spirit of patriotism and devotion, of courage and 
love and religious faith is manifest in the verses that fill the pages 
of this attractive little volume." — Herald and Presbyter, Cin- 
cinnati, 0. 

To THOSE WHO LOVE POETRY OF THE HEART THIS DAINTY 
LITTLE VOLUME WILL ESPECIALLY APPEAL. HANDSOMELY BOUND 
IN CLOTH. For sale at all bookstores, or DIRECT FROM US 

BY MAIL POSTPAID $L00 net 

JONES & KROEGER CO., PUBS., WINONA, MINNESOTA. 



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